I went for a run this morning, for the first time in ages.

I tend not to run much in the summer. Too hot and sticky and too many things that bite.

A chill in the air, a breeze; that's my preferred weather for hoofing up and down the riverbank. There's a bit of a path but it's more grass than anything so don't go imagining nice, shingly paths like you get in the inner city - this is more cross-country.

Today was more sliding about in the mud than running after the storms.

The river burst its banks yesterday and I'd walked up stream in the afternoon, up along the high path, scrabbling under branches and through nettles to watch dozens of footballs, a beer barrel and huge branches rush down the muddy waters.

Today the flotsam and jetsam was tangled in the bank and on the path, a rather sad reflection of what we dump. A lot of polystyrene, water and pop bottles of varying sizes, balls galore and that beer barrel turned out to be an empty guinness one. It beached in West Didsbury.

Puddles on the right bank were full of wee fishes, trapped by the receding water and doomed. Though a nice surprise for the herons.

It's ideal for watching wildlife, post-flood activity is busy-busy and there's no people to disturb the activity. Ducks stand in the shallows snaffling everything they can see. Geese do the same, occassionally venturing into the water which is flowing far too quickly for them.

And now I'm home, the mud bathed off me and muscles pleasantly aching and ready for a huge breakfast of porridge and tea and sunday papers.

Needless to say it looks like rain again.